


Profound Bonds and Apocalypses

by DwarvenAlliance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Profound Bond, Soulmates, only it might be, this ain't a love story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvenAlliance/pseuds/DwarvenAlliance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they weren't soulmates, Dean thinks, this whole "attraction" business would definitely be easier to deny. Castiel is an angel of the lord... he's definitely going to hell for this. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Profound Bonds and Apocalypses

**Author's Note:**

> Request fic for my amazing friend Gojkilp, based on [this](http://lost-moonlight.tumblr.com/post/74858168591/imagine-though-when-you-find-your-soul-mate-and) artwork and comment; within this fic the pulsing is located over ones heart and is only visible below the collarbone.

Dean whistled quietly, fidgeting with the demon knife, carving notches into the table he was leaning on. It was covered in weaponry, vials and artifacts, anything they'd thought would give them an advantage over whoever - _whatever_ \- was about to appear within the summoning circle. Never a man to suffer waiting long, he glanced up at Bobby with what he would fervently deny was a pout. "You sure you did the ritual right?

He got a glare in response.

"Sorry..." His tone suggested he was anything but. "Touchy touchy, hmm?"

Bobby rolled his eyes at the younger man, well used to his impatience, and as if on cue the corrugated panels of the roof began to rattle wildly, reacting to winds that hadn't existed five seconds ago. They stood, guns in hand, facing the doors, Dean positioning himself slightly ahead of Bobby as their old rhythm reasserted itself.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind?" Dean's cavalier words, shouted over the cacophonous noise of iron on wood, died in his throat when the fuses failed and the light bulbs in the barn blew out. The two men ducked as the barred doors splintered open to reveal the figure of a man in a trenchcoat striding towards them. Showers of sparks continued to rain down from the light fittings, filling the barn with light and dark and shadows, throwing the symbols scrawled across every inch of the wooden walls into sharp relief. The intruder walked over the Devil's Trap without so much as a blink, so Dean threw caution to the wind and pulled the trigger of his sawn-off.

The shot to the heart didn't appear to make any difference to his purposeful gait.

Bobby followed Dean's lead with his shotgun, peppering their assailant's chest with buckshot instead of salt this time, but it may as well have been a toy gun in his hand for all the difference it made. After sharing a look of what they would later label 'concern', the hunters abandoned their weapons in favour of more esoteric devices, Dean coming up with the Demon knife he'd been idling with only moments ago.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled slightly, movements feline, jarringly blue eyes fixed on Dean's as if he hadn't just been shot in the chest four times. "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." His words were clipped, controlled, his voice deep and full of gravel.

"Yeah? Thanks for that." Dean put the full force of his weight behind the knife as he sunk it into Castiel's heart. Castiel didn't even flinch, didn't move a single muscle. Dean recoiled.

Castiel, expression unchanged, pulled the knife from his chest, discarding it. There was not nearly as much blood as Dean was used to seeing from chest wounds – and there was something else, a red light he couldn't understand, wouldn't understand, visible through the rip the knife had made in the ugly tan trenchcoat.

Dean shot a look of incomprehension at Bobby. The older hunter, finally casting aside his initial shock, began to swing a crowbar at Castiel's head. The being caught the weapon easily, stopping its swing with one hand, and turned his back on Dean for a moment to press two fingers gently, almost reverently, against the older hunter's brow. Bobby went down without a fight, eyes rolling back into his head as he slumped to the floor under Castiel's disinterested gaze, crowbar slipping out of a limp hand to clatter on the floor.

Dean didn't even go for another weapon, he simply stared in horror from Bobby to Castiel.

"We need to talk, Dean." Castiel intoned. He glanced down at Bobby's prostrate form, then closed the gap between them and pulled aside the lapel of his tan coat, fully revealing the red glow emanating through his thin white shirt, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. "Alone."


End file.
